All Drawn Out
by callmecirce
Summary: The first seven chapters are my drabbles for ChloNath Week 2017, and are intended as seven vignettes from a single story arc. The following three chapters are one-shot spinoffs, based on the AUs mentioned in chapter seven.
1. BickeringFlirting

As they made their way through the Louvre, Nathanaël noticed that Chloe lagged farther and farther behind their group, her face pinched in a way that was less 'foul temper' and more 'this hurts'. Even Sabrina had given up on staying back with her, though, which suggested that perhaps there was some foul temper there, too. He sighed, knowing he was probably wasting his time, but he stopped to wait for her to catch up.

"What do you want?" She demanded when she saw what he was doing.

He ignored her question, and cocked his head curiously. "Are you tired?"

"No, of course not," Chloe snapped petulantly, glaring at him. "My feet hurt."

He looked pointedly at her feet, which were encased in lemon-yellow patent leather peep-toe pumps with ludicrously high heels, and raised a brow.

"What? They're gorgeous."

"Oh, well then. Come here, I'll carry you the rest of the way."

She looked at him doubt and hope warring on her lovely face. "Really?"

"No," he scoffed. "You should have known better than to wear four inch heels on a field trip, Chloe."

"Ugh! As if I would let you touch me, anyway." She stuck her nose in the air and attempted to flounce off, but the effect was ruined when she whimpered.

Nathanaël rolled his eyes. "Chloe, wait." He lightly caught her wrist and she froze, her spine stiff. "Come sit at this bench, and I will see if there's a first aid station somewhere. You probably have blisters or something."

She huffed. "Fine. But be quick about it."

He rolled his eyes again, and mentally berated himself for even trying. He spoke briefly to their art history professor, and discovered that not only was there a first aid station, but that it was nearby.

He followed the directions and found the small office easily. Inside, there was a kindly middle-aged man behind the desk who smiled knowingly when he heard Nathanaël's request, but handed over a stack of Band-Aids without comment. He thanked the man, and took his bounty back to Chloe.

To his surprise, he found her sitting on the bench with her shoes off, her heels perched on the edge of the bench, and her forehead resting on her raised knees. She had nasty-looking blisters on the foot closest to him, so it was a good bet that she had a matching set on the other foot. It was strange; she looked vulnerable in a way that he'd never seen before, and it made him glad that he'd braved her sharp tongue to help her. She must have heard him approaching, though, because her head snapped up and her feet dropped to the ground.

"Finally!" She huffed, flushing not with anger, but _embarrassment_. The anger was just a cover for her embarrassment at having been caught in a position of weakness.

He blinked at the sudden insight, and wondered if there were more such insights to uncover. His mouth curled into a smile, and she huffed again. He held the Band-Aids out to her, and she snatched them from his hand. His smile didn't waver. "Do you want me to wait with you?"

"Of course not, I—" She cut herself off, blinking as she looked around and realized that the rest of their group had moved on to another section of the museum. "Perhaps you _should_ wait here. Sabrina is gone, and I will need someone to dispose of the trash when I'm done."

Nathanaël's eyebrows climbed almost to his hairline. "Oh, can I, please?" He scoffed, shaking his head. " _You're welcome_ for getting the Band-Aids that you so clearly needed, and _you're welcome_ for staying to keep you company until we can catch up with the group."

She stared at him in confusion. "Who the hell are you, and what have you done with Nathanaël Kurtzberg?"

His laughter rang through the gallery, followed by another indignant huff.


	2. HoneyTomato

Nathanaël glanced up from his textbook when the bell above the door jingled, just as he had every other time the door had opened. This café was usually a good place to study, but today it was busier than normal _and_ he'd had the misfortune of sitting right by the door. He sighed, flipping his book closed in defeat.

Oh well, at least he could still people-watch as he enjoyed his coffee.

He sat back in his seat and let his eyes roam over the crowded café, absently noting interesting details and mentally planning how he might sketch them. It was an old habit, and one that he still enjoyed. His eyes paused when they landed on a familiar head of honey-gold hair, and his lips curled into a smile.

She was sitting alone on the other side of the café, at a booth next to the window. An open book sat on the table in front of her, but she ignored it in favor of staring out the window at the cloudy sky beyond. She looked…lonely. He considered her for a moment more, then gathered his things into his bag and moved across the restaurant to slide into the seat across from her.

She looked at him in surprise, and then her eyes narrowed. "I don't recall inviting you to join me."

His brows rose as he took a slow sip from his coffee. "Hello to you too, Chloe."

"What do you want, tomato-head?"

"The café is busy," he shrugged, indicating the rest of the shop with his mug. "This seat was free and I thought I'd free up another table for someone else."

"How lovely," she drawled, with a patently false smile on her face. Then the smile fell, and she made a shooing motion with her hands. "Now leave, I'm trying to study and the god-awful shade of your hair is distracting me."

He just settled more comfortably into his seat and continued to sip at his coffee, regarding her steadily.

She frowned, though there was more confusion in the expression than anything else. "Didn't you hear me? Go away." This time, she made a show of leaning forward to stare at her book, ignoring him pointedly.

He smiled behind his coffee mug and shifted his gaze to the window, watching the people moving quickly outside.

She made it only a few minutes before she snapped her book closed and scowled at him. "What is with you, recently? Why aren't you scurrying away like you used to?"

He met her sharp blue gaze and tilted his head thoughtfully. "Your barbs stopped bothering me a long time ago, Chloe. Until recently, you inspired nothing so much as apathy in me." He took another drink of his coffee while she spluttered indignantly. "But then I saw something I'd never noticed before, and realized that there's actually a _woman_ beneath that prickly exterior. I find myself wanting to know her better, even if it means getting through the prickles to do so."

She gaped at him, clearly blind-sided by his confession and rendered utterly speechless for perhaps the first time since they'd met. "I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted," she said finally.

He set his mug down with another shrug. "Take it however you want. But you should know that if you truly want me to leave you alone, I will."

Her lips pursed, and she sniffed haughtily. "Good. I want you to leave."

Nathanaël felt a flash of disappointment at her response, but he wasn't surprised. It _was_ Chloe, after all. Perhaps he'd expected too much. He drained his mug and stood, grabbing his bag as he did so. "See you later, Chloe."

He glanced back at her as he left, catching her in an unguarded moment. Her face looked both surprised and sad, but it was gone as soon as she realized she'd been caught and the haughty mask slipped back into place.

The damage was done, though. He'd seen. His lips tilted up in another small smile, and he wondered if perhaps she would surprise him after all.


	3. Art

Nathanaël stepped back to view his project from a distance, then began to pace around it with a critical eye, looking for flaws. Sculpture was _not_ his favorite medium, but his professor wanted a sculpture and so a sculpture she would have.

At least he'd had a great deal of control over his execution of the project. Some professors were far too narrow in the scope of their assignments; this one was kind enough (or wise enough) to leave the bulk of the decisions to her students. Her only requirement had been that it must contain movement, and even then, she had refused to clarify that statement at all. Some of his classmates had freaked out at the lack of structure, but Nathanaël was in heaven.

He'd chosen to create an optical illusion—it was entirely stationary, but gave the _appearance_ of movement if the viewer moved. It had been a bitch to design, and an even bigger bitch to actually make, but the result was well worth the effort. He circled it again once more, and nodded to himself in satisfaction. It was done. _Finally._

He wheeled it into his assigned storage closet and locked up, grabbed his keys and jacket from the worktable without breaking his stride, and hit the lights. As he walked up the hall, he pulled his phone out to shoot a text to the guys. He sent it off with a smile, already looking forward to kicking back with a few drinks, and looked up just in time to meet a familiar pair of blue eyes. He blinked. He'd seen her in passing several times over the last few weeks, but they hadn't spoken since that day in the café.

"Chloe? What are you doing here?" Her eyes widened in…was that panic? He frowned, wondering what she could possibly be doing in the art building at this hour. Their art history class had ended hours ago, and wasn't scheduled to meet again for two more days. "Is everything ok?"

"Everything is _fine_ , tomato-head," she snapped, her eyes narrowed in disdain. "I was just…walking through."

"Through to where?" He glanced behind him to the blank wall at the end of the hall and looked back at her with raised brows. "I think there's an emergency exit back there somewhere, but there's nothing behind this building."

"Ugh, fine. I was looking for you." She blushed, and suddenly seemed to find something fascinating in her manicure.

"Looking…for me?" He blinked again, and felt his smile working its way back to his face. "What, did you need something for class?"

"N— _yes_!" Her manicure now forgotten, she put her hand to her cocked hip and tipped her chin up in challenge. "Do you have the notes from today's lecture? I, er, spilled tomato juice on mine."

Nathanaël choked on his laugh, and attempted to cover it with a cough. Her eyes narrowed but she let it go, and he figured that he would, too. "Ah. Well then. I just finished a project, and was about to go and grab something to eat. Would you want to come with me? We could talk over the lecture, and then if you still needed them, we could grab my notes from the dorm."

Her eyes lit as he spoke, and he found himself distracted. Who knew that her eyes could be so damned lovely, when they sparked with interest rather than malice?

"Project? Like, an art project?"

"Uh, yeah." He cleared his throat and subtly shook himself. "My sculpture. Did you, uh, want to see it?"

"Can I?"

"Sure. It's just in here." He turned and led the way back into the room he'd just left, and flipped the lights back on. "I don't usually like sculpture, but I'm actually pretty pleased with this one."

She was surprisingly quiet as she followed him. More surprising was that she waited patiently while he unlocked the door and pulled his creation out on its wheeled base. He stepped to the side so that she could look at it, and allowed himself to watch her face in turn.

"What the hell is it?" She frowned, looking confused and a little disappointed at first. Then she stepped closer saw what they were, and her expression cleared. "Bees?"

"Bees," he confirmed, leaning his hips against his work table and resting the heels of his hands on the edge.

She nodded and shifted to the side, then gasped when she realized its secret. "It moves!"

"No." He smiled, enjoying her reaction. "It doesn't move, but it gives that illusion if you do."

She began to walk around it in much the same way he had done earlier, her eyes wide and her mouth split in a genuine smile. "This is incredible." Then it hit her that she'd offered a compliment, and scrambled to back-track. "I mean, if you're into bugs. Why bees, anyway?"

"Because until recently, they defied explanation." He gestured to the wing. "For a long time, scientists couldn't figure out how a bee's small, flimsy wings could support its comparatively large body in flight. They did finally figure it out, but I thought it was fascinating that something as simple as the flight of a bee could turn out to be so complex."

"You really are a giant dork, aren't you?" A bit of her usual attitude had crept back into her tone, but it had none of the bite that it usually did. She returned her eyes to the carefully sculptured swarm, and continued to move around it, now studiously avoiding him.

He grinned, recognizing it for the victory it was. "So, did you want to go grab something to eat?"

"Yeah, I guess we could do that." She straightened, and stepped away to allow him to return it to its closet.

He locked up, and gestured for her to precede him to the door. "To discuss the lecture today, right?"

She shot a narrow-eyed look at him from over her shoulder. "Of course. What else?"

He shut the lights of with a chuckle.


	4. Rescue Transformation

"My my, Kurtzberg." Chloe sidled up next to him, a glass of chilled champagne in her hand, and made a show of looking him over. "A tux, and not a paint splatter in sight? That's quite the transformation."

Nathanaël had turned to face her as soon as she'd started speaking, but his witty reply had died on his tongue, and how he felt as if he'd swallowed it. She was wearing a form-fitting little black number with a low, draped neckline and narrow straps. The narrow skirt reached to just below her knees. Her hair had been swept into a graceful up-do, showing a great expanse of flawless skin. An onyx and citrine necklace circled her throat, and matching earrings dripped from her lobes. His gobsmacked gaze finally focused on her face, and he saw that her beautiful mouth was twisted into a smug smirk. He found his tongue. "Good evening, Chloe. I didn't—I didn't realize that you'd be here. You, uh, you look lovely."

"I know I do." She paused for a sip of her champagne, and looked out over the crowded gallery. "You clean up well, for a tomato head."

Nathanaël chuckled, suddenly hating his tux a lot less now that he had just a few minutes ago. "Be careful, Chloe. If you keep paying me these compliments, I'm going to think that you like me."

"Keep dreaming, Red," she scoffed.

He rolled his eyes, but didn't answer. "So, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here with Daddy, making him look good. What are you doing here?"

"I have six pieces in this exhibit. I'm networking."

"That sounds…spectacularly boring."

"Oh, it is." He sighed, and finished his own glass of champagne. "Honestly, this is the last place I want to be right now. I hate dressing up like this, and I hate crowds. But this is a great opportunity for me, and I'm trying to make the best of it."

"Hmm. How long have you been stuck here?"

He checked the time on his phone, and blew out a breath. "Three hours, almost."

She choked on her champagne. "That's it." She grabbed his arm and started towing him along behind her.

"Chloe!" He hissed. "What are you doing?"

"Rescuing you," she hissed back. While she was turned, she conveniently bumped into another guest, spilled champagne all over her dress, and started shrieking. "Oh no, my _dress_!"

"Oh my goodness, young lady, I am so sorry!"

"Oh, no, really, it's fine. But I'm afraid I'll have to leave, I can't possibly stay in a wet dress." She turned to her father, and Nathanaël was startled to realize that Chloe had managed to bump into the very man that her father had just been schmoozing. "Daddy, I wouldn't dream of dragging you away from the gala early. We only just got here, after all. Kurtzberg can take me home."

Nathanaël blinked. "I can?"

"Oh, uh, of course, sweetheart." Andre Bourgeois turned to Nathanaël and narrowed his eyes threateningly. "Take good care of my little girl, young man, or you will answer to me."

"Oh Daddy, don't be so medieval. We'll be fine." She started to turn, then stopped and faced her father once again. "Oh, and Daddy? I want that moving bee sculpture for the hotel lobby."

Nathanaël felt his jaw drop. "You do?"

"Yes, dear. I'll have it delivered as soon as this exhibit closes."

"Thank you, Daddy! Ta!"

And with that, she slipped her arm through his, and not-to-subtly began to lead him out of the gallery, seemingly oblivious to the whispers that followed them.

"Close your mouth, Kurtzberg."

"You want my bee sculpture?"

She shrugged carelessly. "I like bees."

He peered at her closely. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He smiled. "You did! You bumped into that man on purpose, because he was talking to your father. You planned that whole thing."

She gave him a haughty glance. "Now why would I go and do a thing like that?"

His smile grew to a grin, knowing that they both knew exactly why she'd done it. "Thanks, Chlo."

"Yeah, whatever."

They stepped through the automatic doors at the front of the building, and into the balmy night air. He slowed his steps and pulled her around to face him. "You know I don't have a car, right?"

She waved a hand and pulled her phone from the clutch at her wrist, and began dialing. "We'll take Daddy's car. The driver can drop us off, and come back for him."

He smirked down at her. "Us?"

She blushed, and looked away from him. "Don't be dense, Red. You're going back to your dorm, and I'm going back to the hotel."

The driver picked up and she took a few steps away as she began rattling off instructions. For the first time, Nathanaël noticed that the dress was entirely backless, not only revealing a great deal more skin, but a delicate bee tattoo as well.


	5. Holding Hands

Nathanael saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and saw Chloe rubbing the palm of her hand over her jeans. He returned his attention to their professor with a mental shrug.

A few minutes later, he saw the same jerky movement in his peripheral vision and looked again; this time, she scratched the side of her neck, her elbow brushing his sleeve. Frowning, he looked back to their teacher.

The third time, he was quick enough to catch the abortive move towards his hand, and he finally understood. She was trying to hold his hand! He felt his heart thump, and heat rise in his cheeks. It was one thing for her to seek him out, at the school or the gallery; friends do that sort of thing all the time. It was one thing for her to buy his sculpture; goodness knows, her father happily indulged her whims often enough. But for her to want physical contact, even something as simple as holding hands, was something else.

He leaned over to put his mouth by her ear. "Are you trying to hold my hand, Bee?"

She flushed. "Of course not! I'm just…fidgety today," she whispered back. "And I told you not to call me that."

"You like Bee just as much as I like Red."

She darted a glance at him. "You like it when I call you Red?"

He smiled warmly. "I do. And you just confirmed that you like Bee."

She looked away with a sniff. "Then I'll have to quit calling you that."

Nathanael studied her profile for a moment, and with his heart hammering in his chest, slowly reached out his hand to touch hers. She looked to their hands with a quietly in-drawn breath, but didn't pull away. He slid his fingertips up the back of her hand, between her knuckles, and threaded them between hers to curl them against her palm. Her eyes flicked to his, her mouth open in a small O.

Still holding her eyes, he bent his elbow and lifted their joined hands, gently tilting their wrists back to expose her palm, and pressed a kiss to the center. She gasped again, and he felt his lips tip upward in an uncertain smile.

She didn't return his smile. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, she blinked, and then she looked back toward the front of the auditorium.

Nathanael frowned, returned her hand to its place, and released her. Had he misread her?

But then she grabbed his hand, palm to palm, and twined their fingers together.

His heart thumped again, but he spent the rest of the class with his hand in hers, and a smile on his face.


	6. I Hate That I Love You

"Hello, beautiful." Nathanael smiled as Chloe flounced into the shared living area of his dorm, slung her bag onto the couch, and sat with a huff. He tossed his books to the scarred coffee table, and pulled her booted feet into his lap. "What's got your wings in a twist today?"

She glared at him. "Stop it."

His smile faded as he looked at her, bewildered, and his hands paused at the zipper on her boot. "Stop what? I haven't had a chance to do anything to piss you off yet." He pulled the boot from her foot and set it on the floor. "Have I?"

She rolled her eyes, and gestured towards him, as he eased her other boot from her foot and began to gently massage the arch. "That! Stop being so…so lovable!"

He blinked, and his hands stilled. "I'm lovable?"

Chloe glared at him again, and sank back against the armrest with her arms crossed over her chest. "You know you are," she grumbled.

He grinned, and switched to her other foot. "Well, I do, but only in the general sense. I didn't know that _you_ think I'm lovable."

"Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head, Red."

"Do you know what, Bee?" She looked at him, her brow raised, and he leaned towards her as if he were about to impart a secret. "I think you're lovable, too."

"Ugh!" She pulled her feet from him and stood. "See? That's what I'm talking about. You can't keep doing that. How can I keep you at arm's length when you do that?"

He rose as well, and moved to stand directly in front of her, wondering if he should push her. She glared at his chest, but he put a bent finger beneath her chin, and tipped her face up to meet his eyes. "Why do you want to keep me at arm's length, Chloe?" He asked, his voice low and his pulse racing.

She moistened her lips, but said nothing.

He gulped, knowing that once said, these things could not be unsaid. "What if I said that I want us to be closer?"

Her lips parted on a soft gasp. "I'd—I'd tell you to dream on."

He stepped closer, and rested his other hand on her hip. "What if I told you that I do dream about you? About us?"

"Then I'd—I'd—" She cut herself off, and licked her lips again. "You do? Really?"

"Yeah, I do." He pulled her closer still, until their bodies were separated by nothing but their clothing. He studied her eyes, weighing the tenderness there against the words he wanted to say. He took a deep breath, and forged ahead. "I think I love you, Chloe."

Her eyes widened, and then she squeezed them shut and dropped her forehead against his chest. "I love you too, Red. And I hate it."

He felt her whispered words like blows, feeling both joy and despair slip through him. He leaned his cheek on her head, and began rubbing her back. "Why?"

"Because love makes you vulnerable. I hate to be vulnerable. I hate that I love you—"

"Chloe—"

"—because it gives you the power to hurt me."

He closed his eyes, hurting _for_ her. What had her life been, to have taught her to view love as a weakness? He stepped back, his hands on her shoulders, and peered into her face. "We have the power to hurt _each other_."

She blanched. "No! I don't want it."

"I love you, Chloe." He shrugged, letting his hands fall. "I—I don't expect anything from you. I'd like to see where this goes, to see what we could be, but if all you ever want from me is to be friends, I can—I can do that. I won't push you."

"Damnit, Nathanael. Damn you for making me _want_ things!" She glared at him, holding her body rigid as she warred with herself. He saw it, the moment that she gave in to herself, and she saw his eyes widen in understanding. She surged forward and he met her, their arms going around one another and their lips crashing together with the intensity of a kiss too long denied.

"Merde," she breathed, sometime later. "Why did we wait so long to do that?"


	7. Alternate Universes

**Day 1: Bickering/Flirting  
Day 2: Honey/Tomato**  
 **Day 3: Art**  
 **Day 4: Rescue/Transformation**  
 **Day 5: First Kiss/Holding Hands  
Day 6: I Hate That I Love You/I Love That I Hate You**  
 **Day 7: AU**

"Have you ever thought about what your life might be like in an alternate universe?"

Chloe pushed herself up onto an elbow so stare blankly at Nathanael.

"What? It's fascinating. The possibilities are endless."

"Your post-coital train of thought is ever entertaining," she said dryly. Then she lowered her head back to his shoulder, squirming until she was once more tucked comfortably against his side. His thumb resumed making lazy circles on her hip, and she sighed happily. "I can only assume that you've been thinking about alternate universes."

"Mmm. I could be the spoiled child of the Mayor, and you could be the awkward artist," he teased.

She slapped his chest, but without force. "Bite your tongue, Tomato."

"I like the idea of us being super heroes. You could be…Queen Bee, and fly around saving Paris in a magical super suit."

"Yeah, along with my ladybug, cat and fox partners." She snorted at the absurdity of it. "You're ridiculous. Would you be a hero, too?"

"Of course! I'd be a…a peacock hero."

"A _peacock_? Yeah, right." She scoffed. "You're not vain _or_ flamboyant, and you lack flair."

"Maybe. But I am sinfully handsome, and the costume would match my eyes."

"I take it back, you _are_ vain," she deadpanned.

He chuckled. "Maybe there's one where our genders are flipped. I'd be Nathalie, and you'd be…uh, Cole."

Chloe giggled in spite of herself. "Or one where we're both girls?"

"That could be interesting."

"Only if we were both bi or lesbian."

He laughed. "I can't imagine a world in which I wouldn't love you, regardless."

"Oh, shut up, you dork, and kiss me."

He rolled over her with a wolfish grin. "As you wish, Queen Bee."


	8. All Drawn Out (Life Swap AU)

Chloe set her easel directly in front of the large gallery windows, clipped her paper into place, and carefully laid out her supplies: pencils, sharpener, eraser, blending stick.

She was halfway through a series of tasteful, understated nudes, focused on showcasing the grace, power and beauty of the human body in all its forms—not just classic beauty, but those society dubbed 'not ideal' as well. She'd already drawn all of the women for the series. Mylene had posed for her, surprisingly enough, and she'd been able to capture her shy friend in all of her curvy beauty. Marinette's mother, Sabine, had volunteered for the project as well, along with several other women of varying ages and body types.

Drawing the women had been easy; drawing the men was proving a far greater challenge. So far, she'd only done two, and both sessions had been awkward in the extreme. Today, she didn't even know who she'd be drawing, and she wasn't sure whether that made things better, or worse. If she didn't know them, then she wouldn't have to face them again later. That was better, right?

Right?

She shifted uneasily, wondering who she'd be working with, and began working on a few quick warm up sketches to distract herself while she waited.

Ten minutes later, she tilted her head, considering the roughly drawn figures, and sighed. There was little more she could do without someone to draw. She'd just begun to dig through her bag for a snack, when the studio door opened and Nathanaël Kurtzberg, of all people, waltzed in. She gasped, and shrank behind the easel. Was he in the wrong room? He had to be in the wrong room, and since he probably hadn't seen her, she could just stay out of sight and he'd leave—

"I don't know why you're hiding back there, Goldie, but if you intend to waste my time then I will just leave. Mother **did** want me to go schmooze at some City Hall luncheon today."

She cringed. He'd definitely seen her, but he still might be in the wrong room. There was a rustling as he set down his bag and removed his coat, obviously intending to stay a while. She took a deep breath, smoothed the wrinkles from her yellow blouse, blew the heavy fringe from her eyes, and stepped out from behind the easel.

Only to gasp and dart right back behind it, her face crimson.

"Is there a problem, Goldie?" She could hear the amusement in his voice, and she just _knew_ that he was laughing at her.

"You're **naked**!"

He chuckled, and there was more rustling. "Well, not yet, but I will be soon. Aren't you going to be drawing me naked?"

She peeked from behind the easel, careful to keep her eyes glued to his face and resolutely **not** thinking about the subtly sculpted planes of his torso. "Wait, **you're** my model for today?"

He smirked, and made a show of rummaging through his messenger bag, and checking a schedule. "Chloe Bourgeois, right? Studio 716, 10am," he deadpanned.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's right." Oh, it just wasn't fair. Nathanaël Kurtzberg was sinfully beautiful, rich as Croesus, arrogant as hell, and completely and utterly comfortable in his own skin. If only he hadn't grown out of being the nasty, spoiled brat he'd been in _collége_ ; at least then she could write him off as a jerk and focus on drawing. But no, he **had** grown out of it, and she'd been nursing a crush since sometime in in _lycée_.

And now she was supposed to draw him.

Naked.

"You alright there, Goldie? I'm serious, I do have other things to get to today, so if you're not going to use me, I'm going to put my clothes back on and leave."

Chloe shoved down all of the errant thoughts about how she'd **like** to 'use' him, and shook herself. "Er, yeah. I just, well I wasn't, uh, I wasn't expecting…you." He arched a brow, and she realized that probably hadn't come across as complimentary. "Not—not that there's anything wrong with you! I didn't know who I was expecting. At all."

The smirk intensified, and his unusual green-blue eyes sparked with mischief. "So, Chloe, how do you want me?"

Her eyes widened, and darted down in spite of her best intentions not to. At least he'd kept on his underwear, but the fitted boxer briefs did little to hide his body. Her face flamed, and his smirk turned to a knowing grin. She squeezed her eyes shut, smoothed down her blouse again, and prayed that her blush hadn't gotten out of control. Then she began shuffling through her stack of possible sketches, grateful for the distraction.

"I uh, have sketches of the poses I'd like to use in the series." She pulled two from the stack, and considered them thoughtfully. "There are two that I'd like you to try. The one I like the best will be very difficult for you to maintain for any length of time, so if you don't mind, I will take a photograph for a reference. Then I can get just a rough outline this morning, and fill in the details later. If you have time after that, we can try the second pose." She passed them both to him, eyeing him shyly. "Is—is that ok?"

He looked at both the sketches, and nodded, his smirk back in place. "You're the artist, Chlo. I'm just here to look pretty."

"Right. Ah, ok." She moved a sturdy chair into the center of the room, in front of her easel, and angled it to the side. "I just need you to, um…" She gestured weakly to his underwear, and he grinned.

"Are you sure your delicate sensibilities can handle it?"

She scowled, and hid her warm face behind her hands. "Don't be an ass, Nathanael," she grumbled, finally losing patience with his teasing. "This is hard enough for me as it is. I really don't appreciate being made fun of."

He looked contrite, surprisingly enough, and then **he** blushed. What?

He cleared his throat, and turned his back to slide the boxer briefs from his legs. "Sorry. I've done this before, but never nude, and never—well, let's just say I'm not as comfortable as I might appear to be."

Chloe gaped at him, stunned. She'd never once heard him apologize voluntarily, and she'd certainly never heard him admit to a weakness before. Granted, she hadn't seen him much in the years since _lycée_ , but still!

Her eyes slid down his naked form, appreciating the clean lines of his lithe, compact body, and found her attraction to him growing. Shit.

He half turned to face her, and suddenly she got a glimpse of something other than his well-defined ass. She jerked her eyes back to his, and saw that his blush had darkened apace with hers. "Ah, if you'll just look at the sketch and get into place, and uh, get yourself situated, I'll adjust your pose until it looks the way I want it to."

"Sure," he said, and she all but ran to hide behind her easel once more.

Merde, _maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all_ , Nathanaël thought, watching her scurry to hide once more. He'd wanted to spend time with her, to show her that he was not the beast he'd been back in school, but this wasn't going at all as he'd hoped.

He stifled a sigh, knowing that there was nothing for it now but to forge ahead, and studied the sketch she'd handed him. Then he set it aside and stepped onto the chair, facing the back. With his hands on the top, he positioned his toes in the middle of the seat and shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, touching his bent knees to the top of the back rest. Rather than resting his haunches on his feet, though, he tried to keep his thighs parallel to the seat and the floor. Chloe was right; this was not a position he could keep up for long. He let his weight rest on his heels, since there was no point in holding the difficult position until she needed him to. When he was sure that his goods were ah, 'situated', as she put it, he cleared his throat. "I'm ready."

He heard her draw a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then she came out of hiding. He could tell right away that she'd shifted into artist mode, because her eyes had turned critical, and she studied him unabashedly.

"You're perfect for this pose, I think," she said absently. "Turn your shoulders toward the easel, but keep your face oriented in the same direction as your knees."

As she continued to direct him, he obliged as well as he could. When it wasn't quite what she wanted, she used gentle fingers to nudge him until he was positioned just so. Sometimes, she would step back to look at him from farther away, and then come closer to adjust his position again. When she was done, his shoulders were twisted at a ninety degree angle from his hips, and she'd placed his right hand in a fist over his heart. His left was raised so that his fist obscured his eyes, but left the rest of his profile exposed. It was an awkward position, to be sure, even without lifting his weight.

"There," she said with clear satisfaction coloring her tone. "Just hold still for just a second…" She angled her easel so that she could see him, pulled her phone from her bag and then fiddled with it, obviously bringing up her camera app. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah." He lifted his weight once more, and fought to keep his body immobile and his face neutral when his thighs immediately began to burn. "Is this good?"

"Just a little bit lower…Perfect! Don't move!"

He heard her snap several photos, and willed her to finish quickly. He'd thought he was fit, but this was more challenging than he'd initially realized.

"Ok, I've got it. You can relax now."

"Fuck, thank you." He dropped his arms and his weight with relief. "I don't know how much longer I could have held that."

She giggled. "I saw you shaking. I'm not even going to try sketching you like that; I'll just work from the picture."

He slumped further and moved from the chair, forgetting for a moment that he was entirely naked. He looked at her when she squeaked, and froze in mortification when he realized that he'd inadvertently given her an unobstructed view of everything. Worse, she'd frozen as well, with her eyes riveted on his member—and it was **growing** under her attention.

Fuck.

He forced himself to move, and snatched his shirt from the floor to hold it strategically over his nakedness. "So, that other pose?"

She shook herself and pulled her eyes away, but they did not meet his. A fiery blush stained her cheeks. "Yeah, right. The pose. Ah, here." She crossed to the corner, and pulled a long wooden staff from a nook between the wall and a large shelving unit. "Face away from me, and stand with your feet shoulder width apart. Um, rotate your whole body a little to the left. I need your thigh to block—uh, yeah. Like that. Now take this and rest it across your shoulders, with your wrists draped over either end, and turn your head so that I can see your face in profile. Perfect!"

He smiled at the excitement in her tone, and watched from the corner of his eye as she lifted her cell phone again.

"Do you mind if I take pictures of this one, too? I want to have a reference in case we run out of time."

"Go right ahead."

She snapped several more pictures, tossed her phone into her bag, and finally took up her pencils. They were quiet as she worked, and for some time the only sounds were the hum of a space heater and scratch of her pencil across the paper.

It was boring.

His shoulders ached, and his arms were going to sleep. He tried wiggling his fingers, but it only made them feel tinglier. Was tinglier even a word?

He sighed. Nathanaël Kurtzberg was not accustomed to boredom **or** discomfort. He considered telling her to just use the picture to finish, but then he'd have to leave and he still hadn't asked her out. He could always steamroll her into going out with him, in return for his posing today, and a few years ago, he might have done just that. But he didn't want her to say yes because she had to. He wanted her to say yes because she wanted to, and that put a whole new complexion on things.

Nathanaël Kurtzberg was not accustomed to feeling vulnerable, either. It chafed. He sighed again.

"Are you ok?" She asked, and he jumped at the unexpected sound of her voice. "You keep sighing."

"Yeah, I'm good. Just a little bored."

"Oh! I'm sorry. That's my fault. I usually try to chat with my subjects, to make the time go by, but I guess I was just lost in my own thoughts."

She lapsed into silence again, and he turned his head a bit more to look at her. She was blushing again, and was worrying her lower lip between her teeth. Maybe she didn't know what to talk about?

Well, that made two of them.

He cast about for something to say. "So, um…will both of these drawings go into the series?"

"No! I'm only doing sixteen portraits, and each subject is appearing only once."

He frowned, feeling disappointed at that. "Does that mean you'll only actually finish one of them?"

"No, I um…I plan to finish them both." She tilted her head, her eyes darting back and forth between him and her paper as she considered what she'd done. "I need to see them both, finished, to know which one belongs in the series."

"What will you do with the other?"

"I uh, haven't thought about it," she replied, blushing. "What banquet were you supposed to go to?"

Nathanaël noted that she was changing the subject, but let it go. "Some political fund raiser. Mother is already gearing up for next year's campaign."

She winced. "I'm sorry you're missing it."

"I'm not. If I weren't here, I'd have likely found another excuse not to attend. Trust me, there will be plenty more for Mother to drag me to."

"My dad told me recently that he once had political aspirations. He couldn't stomach all of the 'nonsense hobnobbing', so he didn't last long." She giggled. "Can you imagine **my father** , the mayor?"

He smiled, thinking back to their _lycée_ days. "No, I don't think I can. He's far better suited to being a teacher."

It got quiet again. Nathanaël shifted his feet, which were starting to feel sore. How far had she gotten? Would she maybe go for coffee with him after this? Coffee was casual. Coffee was safe. If she said no to coffee, he'd know not to ask her for an actual date. He shifted again, drew a breath to speak, and blew it out silently.

Fuck. Caring sucked.

He almost missed the days when he could just walk up to a girl and demand her attention, as he'd done with Adrienne for so long. But no, that was a dick move and he didn't want to be a dick. It was a miracle that Adrienne was still willing to be friends with him.

Ok. He could do this. He could—

"Hey, um, Nathanaël?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm just about done with my initial sketch. Would you maybe want to go for coffee? With me? Or—or lunch. Because it's noon, and people eat lunch at noon. Or maybe not today, because you have things to do. But maybe—"

"Hey, Goldie!" He turned to face her fully, and leaned toward her with his signature smirk in place, the staff still slung across her shoulders. "I'd love to get coffee with you."

"Eeeep!" She said, her wide eyes once again locked on his goods.

"Oh, fuck me," he muttered, dropping the staff to cover himself with his hands, and wondering how many times he could humiliate himself in one day.

She blinked. "M-maybe we should get that coffee first, hmm?"


End file.
